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Of all the things Checkmate had to learn to manage in its new human body, clothing was decidedly one of the most irritating. Not the worst — that title went to brushing teeth, or perhaps the constant need to acquire food — but certainly irritating. For the first few months of its existence, it hadn’t paid them much mind, as the other incessant demands of its form were enough without the additional challenge of selecting different textures to have pressed against its body all day. But eventually it became clear that Nick’s old sweatpants and t-shirt were wearing thin, and more pressingly, that wearing the same clothes for such an extended period of time could be just as unpleasant of a sensation as changing them out. As much as Checkmate loathed the idea, it had no choice but to face the facts: It desperately needed new clothes.
This was how it had found itself in the fitting room of a clothing store early one morning, staring at itself in the mirror. The harsh fluorescent lights bouncing off the excessive amount of reflective surfaces and the prevalent smell of cleaning material were not serving to make the environment all that welcoming.
While the racks of clothes had initially been overwhelming, it had managed to whittle its options down to a much more manageable set of five or six outfits. Naturally, these included another pair of sweatpants and comfortable shirt, as it saw no reason to give up on a system that had been well-proven to work in the past. The others were loose, sleeveless dresses, and a button-up and dress pants that Checkmate had deemed particularly dapper. It had tried other casual options, shorts and sweaters, but it was mostly the nicer outfits that it really appreciated. After all, if you had to drape yourself in fabric all day, why not at least choose something eye-catching?
The dresses were the most unfamiliar options. Nick hadn't worn anything like that — not to its knowledge, anyway, though it supposed that there were probably plenty of outfits that Nick wore that Checkmate had never gotten to see. The thought brought a sudden, unwelcome surge of emotion, fizzling through its head and coming to rest in its stomach. It wasn't an entirely new sensation, but it also wasn't something it was at all used to yet. It had only just mastered basic feelings — hunger, thirst, pain. Complex emotions remained unfamiliar territory, annoying more than anything else. It still couldn't fathom how humans functioned on a day-to-day basis, when even small inconveniences could set off a whole host of neurons firing and bodily systems activating. It was a tiring way of existing, that much was clear.
It pushed aside the feeling for the time being, refocusing its attention back on the dresses. It had chosen three, all in similar styles, with short sleeves and simple colors. The deep magenta (#8C1946, it had noted near-automatically) was its favorite, but in the interest of variety, it had also selected a cheerful yellow (#FFFF8F) and a pretty off-white (#FFF5EE). Even in its limited experience with having vision, it was obvious to Checkmate that it enjoyed colorful things. It often found itself distracted walking by department stores, which really was a habit it should try to shake, considering how it could leave it oblivious to all sorts of perils that could come with walking in more densely populated areas. Wearing a dress wouldn’t be too much of a distraction to itself, it hoped. The sweatshirt it had been wearing was yellow, and that hadn’t bothered it much, but maybe a new color would be different.
The sensorial experience of wearing the dresses was certainly a welcome relief compared to the pants and shirt. It didn't dislike longer clothes, or at least, it didn't think so — it had also liked the button-up and dress pants it had tried on, and they provided helpful insulation against how unbelievably cold the human body could be. Still, it was freeing to be wearing something slightly shorter, something that allowed it to breathe a little more. Especially with the weather getting warmer (and temperatures would only continue to climb, as it had confirmed through searches through a number of five-day forecasts) it would be less stuffy and uncomfortable than something with thicker fabric, it figured.
Trying on the magenta dress for what must have been the third time since entering the store, it finally took a moment to evaluate itself in the mirror. It had no particular attachment to its appearance one way or the other, and therefore had mostly neglected to take that aspect of its clothing into account, but it figured it was a variable it should at least give some weight to.
Chess didn't consider itself any sort of fashion expert, but the dress did suit it well, in its rather unprofessional opinion. It offered a different sort of quality to its appearance, something it didn't quite have the vocabulary to express. It was a good sort of change, it thought. On an impulse, it tried spinning in the dress, and was delighted to find that this produced as entertaining of an experience as it had predicted. It could even feel itself smiling slightly, something like laughter bubbling up in its throat. It tried to resist the urge to analyze its expression in the mirror — were its eyes too wide? Its smile too off-center? This was a question it had asked itself a number of times since gaining a body, and it didn't seem to be any closer to finding a satisfying answer. Its public perception was still very much a mystery, as much as it might try to fit the concept into neat equations or “if/then” scenarios.
The dress and the long hair probably gave it a more feminine quality, it decided. This, at least, was a part of being human that seemed to have some sort of rules, even if they were largely arbitrary. Nick didn't seem to care much about that, either. As Chess understood it, her hair was kept long not out of a desire to express any particular gender, but out of respect for an old human tradition. His clothes were selected mostly with the goal of staying warm and protected during the winter months, and while she had tried to explain her broader feelings on gender to Chess before (to only some success) he had bigger problems to sort out before he could properly focus on his presentation one way or the other.
Something that she'd never get to actually do now, Checkmate realized. It quickly tried to move on to another topic before the same strange emotion came flooding back.
In any case, Checkmate didn't think it had any particular preference about how it was perceived — or, if it did have one, it was yet to discover it. It liked the dresses and formal button-ups with bowties in equal measure, and it hardly saw the purpose of attempting to change its body further. It didn't quite dare to cut Nick's hair, even now that he was gone. The razors and makeup it had seen hanging in a different part of the store seemed to it a highly unnecessary amount of effort for a very small outcome.
Nick had asked it once what its own self-perception was like, if it imagined itself in any particular way. Its answer, of course, was that it didn't: It was nothing more than a string of code, and saw no reason to conceptualize of itself as anything other than that. It didn't even necessarily identify with the computer it was housed in -- that was a separate machine, with its own tasks, only one of which was running Checkmate's program. If Checkmate had to pick something to represent itself, it probably would be nothing more than a series of ones and zeros.
Having a body hadn't changed its feelings on the topic much. It was more used to being in control of it, of responding to its needs, but it hardly felt like its own. Looking in the mirror, even with its new eyes and clean new clothes, it didn't see Checkmate. It saw someone who looked a little like Nick Violet. That was all.
The reflection in the mirror had tears in its eyes, it noted distantly. Probably a byproduct of the unidentifiable emotion that had been clawing at its gut the whole time it had been in the store. It really should leave.
It bought the three pretty dresses, and the comfortable sweatpants, and the dress pants and the button-up and two bowties. The cashier squinted at it too long before calling it sir, and Checkmate once again wondered if this were the sort of thing Nick would have an opinion on.
It would never know the answer, it knew that. It had been left with nothing but speculation, an overactive mind, and an appreciation for brightly patterned fabrics.
It was going to have to be enough.